Song Of The Widow Poem by Uma nair

SONG OF THE WIDOW

the blowing conch shells are gone
the sound of chants for Maa Durga
soft echoes of married women
sindoor swipes on one other

only the dhak beat has stayed
the songs play on
a solemn tune stilled

simple emotions on crumpled dreams
hang on to the beats
the dhak plays
many thoughts many words

when the conch shell calls forth
we carry ears of conversations and cremation notes
whatever the wise shell foretells

when my heart beats
the skin of the past
wraps around my pages enough to
wet a widow's eye

in a twinkle I have turned
from participant to outsider
no more parades
no more shouts

no more in the thick of white and red saris
can I be the face of humanity
questions pour like torrents marching
in the solitude of my kitchen

questions break my tower of loneliness
afraid to have my questions trampled upon
I wear the shroud of widow hood to suit a crowd

long after the column of dust settles in the pandal
and devotees part like the obedient sea
my memories descend low into the abyss
of the past imagining my husband stands

dhoti clad head bowed examining the reality of Durga's expression
and freed from the fear of his brain tumour
the whole procession before us turns into sand

carried by the wailing wind of fate
Left only with the last echo he too passes
over the transient tenors of the earth
only the tradition, the tradition of widowhood will stay

dictator of conquered isolation, invisibility
my tears a mere scream in a vacuum
as the song of the widow transcends
her new role as eternal mourner

(sindoor-vermillion powder worn on the head, forhead that signifies married woman in India)
(dhak -primitive drum that is played for durga puja)